Friends and Foes
by Tzuzuku
Summary: An error of judgement gets Reese into trouble. And an increasingly panicked Finch tries to get in contact with Fusco, only to end up with Carter for help instead. Originally written for eviinsanemonkey.


_**Author's Notes:**_ Set some time between '_Witness_' and '_Get Carter_'.

I wrote this as a gift for _eviinsanemonkey _for the gift exchange at livejournal. The prompt I received was: _Reese gets into trouble and Finch turns to Carter for help._

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"**Friends and Foes" **

"Mr. Reese?" No answer.

"Reese?" Still, nothing but silence answering his call.

"John! Can you hear me?" Increasingly desperate, Finch tapped command after command into his keyboard. Tracking the GPS signal was a familiar routine by now. And there it was. The little blinking dot signifying that Reese had not left the building on 51st Street even if he wasn't answering his phone. Or at least, Finch amended cautiously, Reese' mobile phone hadn't left the building. Which was a worrying thought regarding their recent experiences in what he tentatively referred to as "the Elias case".

No, being out of contact with Reese again would not do at all.

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Reese woke with the taste of dried parchment in his mouth and for one irrational moment imagined that he was back at the library. Then, reality reinserted itself.

A swift glance around the room revealed to him that he was in a cellar somewhere, and a quick tug on his hands confirmed that he was not going anywhere soon. He could feel a light vibration in the pipe his hands had been chained to with what felt like suspiciously soft padded, and (dare he think it?) fluffy handcuffs. He chanced a look upwards. Oh, hell, no. They were pink. He gave it another experimental tug. Nothing gave. He wasn't really surprised. Considering what those kind of handcuffs were usually meant for, they were built to withstand a lot of stress. Still, it would have been nice if it had worked. He had to pick the lock then. It couldn't be that difficult. The room was cluttered with the remains of 40 years of active use. And once free, he had to get in contact with Finch. Reese was painfully aware of the empty feeling in his ear, which meant that not only had Darnell's accomplice managed to knock him out cold, she had also managed to knock the ear bud that had been nestled in his ear out. Finch must be frantic by now, Reese thought, while he tried to drag a tangled knot of wire towards himself with his foot.

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Detective Carter looked up from her paper work when she heard her partner's mobile phone ringing. She had already noticed that Fusco took a lot of calls, and text messages. And to be honest, she found it a bit disconcerting. Of course, she herself was called on her private mobile occasionally while she was at work, too. Most of the time it was an informer, who wanted to meet with her. Sometimes, her mother called, and once or twice even Taylor had send her a text message. So, she wasn't in any position to question her partner. But something about the way Fusco tended to take off after receiving a call or a message rubbed her wrong. She hadn't forgotten about those nasty rumours that had gone around the station after his transfer. Nor had she missed the way the files on her desk seemed to have moved inches when she had left the room for a while. Something was up with her new partner. She couldn't say what it was, but she knew it was there. Deep inside, the suspicion she had felt on first meting Lionel Fusco had never quite left her. So, when she heard his mobile phone ringing, she glanced up from her paper work and watched Fusco frown at the phone's display before answering the call.

Surprisingly though, the man didn't leave the room this time. He did not even stand up. Since he kept his voice down, she couldn't hear what was said, though. But as she watched his face, she saw surprise, shock, and even a bit of anger flash over it.

"Right", she heard Fusco ground out, "I'll pick him up. Thanks for calling me." He dropped the phone onto his desk and struggled into his coat.

"Something up?" Carter called over to him.

Fusco jerked his head in a way that conveyed 'yes', 'no', and 'Can't you see I'm in a hurry?' all at the same time. "Need to go to the hospital", he said passing her desk on his way out, and, when he noticed her questioning look, added: "Need to pick up my boy."

Carter blinked. That was unexpected, but she had known that he had a son. And an ex-wife.

"He okay?" She asked.

Fusco shrugged. He rubbed his hand through his short cropped hair tiredly. "Guess so. Broke his arm going down stairs on a skateboard. School called."

Carter nodded. Yes, she knew how that felt. Had actually been in a similar position herself once. "I'll cover for you with the Captain." she offered.

"Thanks."

She watched him shuffling passed the officers and out of sight, before sitting down at her desk again.

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Finch felt cold sweat on his forehead. He had accessed every security camera around the house Reese had disappeared in. He had gone through every piece of security footage and had even activated the microphone in Reese' phone, hoping to gain a clue as to what had happened to the other man. But so far, none of his efforts had yielded results. The security camera of a nearby drugstore had recorded Reese entering number 1286, but not leaving it. And all Finch got from the mobile phone was the sound of someone walking around and ravaging the house. By now, Finch was positive that there were two other persons in the building, and they were obviously searching for something. They also must have taken the phone from Reese, since the one thing Finch could not hear was his missing partner. And that in and of itself was the most worrying part.

Reese was highly trained and very good at what he did. Of course, Finch was aware that at one point someone would simply get lucky in a fight with Reese, but Finch had always been a cautious person. So, he couldn't help but wonder if one of Elias' own highly trained men had finally caught up with Reese. If that was the case, Reese needed help. Soon. And Finch was painfully aware that he alone would not suffice. It was time to call back-up, he decided. Besides, Detective Fusco still had a score to settle with Elias' men, too.

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The persistent ringing of a phone made Detective Carter raise her head again. She looked around the office in irritation. It was Fusco's mobile phone. She recognized the ring tone by now. But Fusco had left to pick up his kid from hospital, hadn't he? Carter frowned. When the ringing didn't stop after half a minute, she cautiously walked up to Fusco's desk. Yes, this was were the ringing came from, alright. It only took two moved files to unearth the mobile phone on the desk. Fusco must have left it behind in his hurry to get to the hospital, she thought. Uncertain of what to do, she looked around. None of the other detectives paid her any mind, though. She picked up the phone and looked at the display. It might be important after all.

'Unknown Caller'.

Great, she thought. The phone was still ringing. An informant with crucial information, perhaps? Or news from the hospital? A passing officer send her a questioning look, and that was what made the decision for her. It must be important, otherwise the caller would have given up by now. She punched the button to accept the call.

"Detective Carter on Detective Fusco's phone."

Icy silence reigned on the other end.

"Hello? Who's there?"

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The wire was a good idea, Reese reflected. If only it hadn't been lying on the floor. And if only it hadn't been so tangled up. He had managed to hook his foot through it with no problem. Lifting said foot up so far, that he could grasp the wire in his hand, was a whole different story. At least, he had enough time to mull over his situation while he busied himself with the task.

Darnell Schultz - 30 year old med student, as Finch had described him - was certainly a simple guy. It hadn't taken much for Finch to track down the man's financial problems. From there, it had taken Reese even less time to figure out Darnell's plan to kill his fiancées grandfather for the inheritance. What Reese had not taken into account though, was the fact that said fiancée could have been an accomplice in the whole thing. It was a bit embarrassing. But he had simply cast the woman ("31 year old, flight attendant"; Finch's description had left out a lot in this case) into the 'innocent bystander' role, hadn't actually given the idea that she might be guilty, too, a second thought. After Elias, he should have known better. Reese could hear the two would-be killers trampling upstairs, pulling drawers from cupboards and generally ransacking the furnishings. There was no way, they would hear him, he decided. He lifted his foot, and kicked the tangle of wire upwards, trying to catch it with his bound hands.

Wistfully, he reflected that Finch's machine giving out Darnell's social security number was only part of the reason, why he had ignored the hints regarding the young man's fiancée. The crucial reason, the one that he would definitely not admit aloud any time soon, was that the young woman, Jessica, had reminded him of his own Jessica. So, when it had looked as if Darnell had entered old Mr. Mullins house with intention on murder, Reese had put the young woman's involvement out of his mind. Only to have her sneak up from behind, when he was busy stopping Darnell from plunging a kitchen knife into the sleeping old man's chest.

Reese had felt the blunt heavy object making contact with the back of his skull. And in that moment had understood the mistake he had made. But by then, it had been too late.

It was a saucepan, he thought drily, while untangling the wire in order to get a better grip. That was another information about this case, he would definitely not volunteer to Finch any time soon.

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Had Finch not been so busy worrying about Reese, he might have found it strange, that Fusco did n't answer his call at once. Whatever one might think about the corrupt detective, he tended to answer his phone promptly. But as it was, Finch was too engaged in his search for clues about his partner's whereabouts to spare the detective's odd behaviour any mind.

He was very near to hanging up again, when the call finally connected.

"Detective Carter on Detective Fusco's phone."

Finch felt his mind derailing like a train jumping the tracks. He froze. His fingertips held suspended over his keyboard. Eyes staring unseeingly ahead. His mind could only focus on one word: Carter? Still frozen in his seat, his eyes jerked to the screen on his left, checking the number he had dialled. Once. Twice. No, it was Fusco's number.

"Hello? Who's there?"

He blinked. This was... well, unexpected was a way of putting it. Finch frowned and deliberately stopped himself from pushing the 'disconnect' button. Perhaps, he could work with this?

"Detective Carter?" he wondered quietly.

"I'm sorry, who's...", Carter's voice cut off pensively. "Mr. Burdett? Is that you?"

Finch recoiled in his seat, and then grimaced, when the inevitable stab of pain raced down his spine. Mentally, he slapped himself. It hadn't been so long ago, that he had met with the detective. Of course, there would be a good chance, she might remember his voice.

"Eh... yes..." he licked his lips nervously. "Yes. Good afternoon, Detective Carter."

"Mr. Burdett?" Carter echoed incredulously.

"I recognize it has been a while since we spoke."

"That's alright. Just surprised me there." Finch imagined he could hear her shake her head to clear her mind.

"I assure you, detective, the surprise is all mine." He wondered how long it would take her to switch from surprised to suspicious.

"Why are you calling Detective Fusco?"

Not that long then, Finch answered his own question. "I had hoped that the detective could help me out with a case of mine."

"A case?"

"Yes, Detective Carter. You wouldn't know where I could reach him?"

The implied question, of course, was clear: What was she doing with Fusco's phone? There hadn't been any reports of Fusco being injured or otherwise disabled on duty. Finch had left enough flags in the NYPD's computer system, that a report about something like that would have been brought to his attention.

"He's at the hospital."

Finch blinked. "I didn't know he had gotten injured", he offered taken aback.

"Hasn't. Got to pick up his kid."

Huh? Finch abhorred holes like this in his surveillance network. Perhaps, he should extend his watch over the detective to include things like this, too. It wouldn't be that much trouble to include Fusco Junior, and if it helped to avoid these type of situations, it would certainly be worth it.

"I see."

"Can I pass a message to him?" Carter's voice sounded intrigued.

Finch scoffed. Of course, she would love to take a message. Find out what Fusco's business was with Burdett, the paralegal.

"No, I don't think so. Thank you, for your time, detective."

Something in his voice must have given him away, though, since Carter did not seem inclined to accept the dismissal.

"Listen, Mr. Burdett. I'm not sure, what business you got with my partner. But", she trailed off as if pulling together the courage to ask, what had been on her mind, "but, is this important?"

Yes, yes, this is important. Finch wanted to scream in frustration. He was losing valuable time. God knew what had happened to Reese in the meantime. His gaze shifted to the screen to his left where the GPS signal of Reese phone was still blinking steadily.

"Perhaps I can help you?"

It took Finch a moment to process the words spoken in his ear. "Help?" he echoed confused.

"Yes", Carter repeated. "Can I help?"

"I... I don't..."

"Listen", she interrupted his stammering, "I don't know how you know Fusco, or what he does for you. But, I think, you're the kind of guy who likes to solve things yourself. You don't like asking for help. But, you're bright. You know when you need help. And I think, you wouldn't ask for something you could do yourself. You wouldn't be calling, if you didn't need something right now. So, question is: What do you need, Mr. Burdett?"

"I'm not sure if you could help me", Finch said, trying to buy time. He needed to think.

"Try me." He could hear Carter's smile in her voice. "I heard rumours about what Fusco might have been involved in before. But you don't strike me as someone who'd be involved in nasty things like that. Are you? I think, you're someone who'd try to help the little people. So, try me."

Momentarily stunned, Finch sighed. What kind of impression had he made on the woman?

"If you wish, detective."

He gathered his thoughts. He couldn't make a mistake now. Carter was a good cop, but she was first and foremost a good person. If he played that right, he might just get the distraction out of it, he needed to get Reese to safety himself.

"You see", he began, "I have an acquaintance, Robert Mullins, who felt that his granddaughter's fiancé might be after his life..."

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Once he had gotten the handcuffs off, Reese breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken a lot longer than he had thought it would. Perhaps he was getting old. Best not to speculate about that, though. He needed to get upstairs, check on the old man, stop the two conspirators, and get back in contact with Finch. God only knew what Harold had done in the last half hour. After seeing the guy walk knowingly into an armed robbery just to warn him of a set-up, Reese knew not to put anything past Finch.

At the very least, Reese thought while sneaking up the cellar stairs, Finch might have called Fusco for back-up. Which in turn meant, that the dirty cop might appear with Carter in tow, and in that case, Reese himself should make himself scarce. But for now, that was merely theoretical guess-work. He couldn't know what Finch had done, until he had gotten into contact with the man himself.

Once he had reached the top of the stairs, Reese pressed his back to the wall, and strained his ears to hear what the two conspirators for murder were doing. From what he could hear, they were not at all in agreement about their current situation.

"Jess!" he heard the young man calling. "We've got the money. Let's get out now."

"No way!"

Reese heard someone rummage through the kitchen cupboards.

"There has to be more here!"

A crash of something heavy falling to the ground from a great hight echoed through the otherwise quiet house, followed by a female voice uttering a curse, that made even Reese lift his eyebrows impressed.

"Jess", the man tried again. "What do you think, we'll find here? A golden treasure?"

The woman continued to mutter curses

"And what we gonna do about the guy in the cellar?"

Reese perked up.

"What about him?" the woman asked.

"Well... what if he tells on us?"

The female voice snorted. "Tell? What's he gonna tell? He broke in, too, didn't he? It's up to him to prove that he didn't had any thing to do with this."

"Jess", the man's voice shook with nervousness, "he's chained up in the cellar. With... with... your handcuffs." The last words were spoken in an embarrassed whisper.

Reese felt a blush working its way up his own cheeks. So, that's where those things had come from. He had thought so, of course, but he really could have lived without hearing it said out loud.

He couldn't see the young woman rolling her eyes, but he knew she had done it. It seemed like something she would do.

"Then, he'll just have to go, too. Doesn't he?"

Absently, Reese wondered how he could have possibly misjudged her role in all this.

He needed to find his mobile phone. Fast. And check on the old man, although, he had few hopes to find the man still alive.

He inched the door open and slipped out into the hallway. Thinking fast, he decided to check on the old man first. So, he turned away from the bickering couple in the kitchen and sneaked into the living room instead. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed the frail body lying limply on the couch. A puddle of deep red had spread from his abdomen and seeped into the covering. Reese let out a quiet hiss, before hurrying over to the man. It took him only a second to find the stab wound. Thankfully, it wasn't deep. He grabbed a quilt from a nearby armchair and pressed it onto the wound. Then, he took another good look around, hoping to find his own mobile phone in reach somewhere. But, he had no such luck. He needed to get help somehow. The stab wound was not very deep, but the man had been lying there for a while now. And even a wound like this could be deadly.

Reese knew a lot about killing people. And he knew a lot about assessing situations. And his situation right now did not look good: his weapon was gone, he had lost contact to Finch, the man in front of him was bleeding out, and the woman who had taken his gun was currently arguing with her accomplice in the next room over. He could sneak out the back, find a phone, and call Finch. But that would mean, leaving the old man behind with two amateurs who were rapidly losing control of the situation.

His concentration momentarily turned to the panicked argument Darnell and Jess were having in the kitchen, when their words finally registered in his brain.

"... gas leak..."

"... explosion..."

"... clean evidence..."

Reese closed his eyes in desperation. Of course, they would try something like that. It was the icing on his cake. No, wait. He blinked. Actually, there was something that could make this situation even worse...

He heard the front door banging open followed by Detective Carter bellowing: "NYPD! Freeze!"

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When Carter had stepped out of her car, and taken her first look at the house, she had felt an unpleasant churning in her stomach. Instinctively, she had checked her gun. If someone had asked her why she had come, she would not have been able to answer. But ever since Burdett had told her about his acquaintance', Mr. Mullins', fears, and about how the old man had not answered the paralegals phone calls today, she had not been able to shake the bad feeling that had taken root in her. She had to check on the man. She couldn't help it. The captain always said that it was a failing of hers, getting too involved. But Carter couldn't see it as a weakness. She just had to try to help. She hated being too late. And unfortunately, in her job, she was way too often too late.

So, yes, when Burdett had told her of his fears for the other man's well-being, she hadn't hesitated to say that she would check.

Carefully, she made her way up to the front door. Burdett had told her that Mr. Mullins lived here alone, with only his grand daughter coming for occasional visits. Apparently, the woman was a flight attendant. But, according to the little guy, she too should have been home today. The fact that neither answered the telephone did not bode well for both of them. The uneasy feeling intensified.

Standing directly in front of the front door, Carter could just so make out raised voices inside. She frowned. A man and a woman were arguing. She raised her fist to rap on the door but hesitated.

The few words that resounded clearly in her ears made her shiver in disbelieve and anger.

"... gas leak..."

"... explosion..."

"... clean evidence..."

Not now. Not on her watch. She had what she needed. Forget warrants. Extenuating circumstances would have to be enough for this one. She took a few steps back, breathed deeply, and threw herself at the front door with all the rage she could muster.

Carter barged into the floor like an avenging angel. Weapon at the ready she came to a skidding stop in the kitchen door.

"NYPD! Freeze!"

The scene in front of her did obligingly come to a stand still. A couple, both of them around 30 years old, stared at her wide-eyed. The man had been fiddling with the gas oven, the woman had a gun stuffed into the back of her denim.

"On the ground!" Carter ordered them. "Get down!"

Stunned, both followed her commands without complaints. And once she had both handcuffed, taken the gun from the woman, and assured herself that no danger would come from the oven, Carter breath a sigh of relief.

Fumbling for her mobile phone with one hand, she stepped back into the hallway, to give at least a cursory glance through the other rooms down here.

"This is Carter. I need a police patrol down on 51st street. Number 1286. Mullins household. Two suspects for housebreaking and robbery."

She stepped into the living room. Her eyes immediately fell on the body lying limply on the couch. A blood soaked quilt was pressed to the old man's stomach. She felt the bile rise in her throat. With shaking fingers, she felt for a pulse. The relief, when she felt a weak but steady heartbeat under her fingertips, nearly made her weak in the knees.

"And attempted murder."

Being Carter, she couldn't help feeling suspicious, though. Could the old man have tried to stop his own bleeding? That didn't feel right. She took two quick steps to the open window to check outside. But there was nothing out of the ordinary, except for the set of footprints in the flowerbed underneath the open window, pointing curiously away from the building.

She scowled.

It would have to wait.

Having made the decision, she holstered her gun and went back to the old man.

"Sir? Mr. Mullins? It's alright. I'm with the police. You'll be alright."

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Finch sat in the driver seat of his car, fingers clenched around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles stood out white against his skin. This was a mess. He had planned to be at the house before Detective Carter arrived, but traffic had been a nightmare. Still, he hadn't been that late. When he had drawn up, he had watched Carter standing on the buildings front porch. But while he was still thinking on how to proceed, she had suddenly barged through the door.

Finch had sat in his car and stared in helpless surprise. Didn't the woman knew procedure? She should at least have waited for back-up! Perhaps, he had overdone it a bit with pushing her righteousness buttons...

There was nothing to it now. He needed to know what was going on. And since he had spoken to the detective, hopefully, she wouldn't be to suspicious to see him at the scene.

He turned to leave the car when, suddenly, the passenger side door was pulled open.

Finch turned around as fast as he could, and knew, even while he did so, that his back would be hurting for the rest of the day. Still, he craned his neck around as far as it would go.

When he saw Reese slip into the seat next to him, Finch breathed a silent sigh of relief. He took quick note of the man. Reese' suit was dusty and sweaty, and there was blood on his hands, but other than that, he looked remarkably calm.

"Finch."

The curt greeting made Finch's lips twitch.

"Mr. Reese."

"I didn't knew you were on such good terms with Detective Carter." Reese commented.

"One does what one can." Finch answered.

He started the car and kept his eyes fixed on the traffic ahead. Still, from the corner of the eye, he saw Reese ducking his head down to hide a smile. And deep inside, he felt himself returning it.

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_[Fin]_

Please, review if you find the time. ;-)


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